Sunday, November 29, 2015

Among
this year's festive invitations: The Nutcracker on Ice, and The Sword
in the Stone reworked as a rock'n'roll panto. But nothing quite so
outrageous as this – fictitious – entertainment on offer in
Writtle.

Times
are hard for Little Grimley Amateur Dramatic
Society.
Their ranks are thinning, talent is in short supply and audiences
seem to prefer to spend their Saturday nights in front of the box.
Hence
these desperate measures. A sex panto – though I think Jim Davidson
got there first with his smutty Sinderella – and a monstrous
mash-up of talent shows off the telly.

The
first play – Last Panto in Little Grimley – sees members of the
group debating, very amusingly, the way forward. Four lovely
performances here: Jean Speller as the hapless Joyce, Paulette Harris
as the overbearing Margaret, Daniel Curley as the “ape man” stage
manager and Nick Caton, loudly booed by the audience, as the ruthless
director. The wonky word-processor gag seems lame, but there were
many hilarious moments,
not least the very recognizable round of “diary bingo”.

“There
may be trouble ahead” warns
Nat King Cole at the start of the second piece. Same characters, but
renamed, recast and relocated to Writtle. From the subs bench we have
Beth Crozier being overbearing, and new signing Marge Naylor as Joy,
compelled to perform on roller skates, just like they never did in
Cats. Jim
Crozier is the autocratic dictator this time – a fine oratorical
monologue – and, getting lots of laughs as the lad Barry, Chris
Rogerson, wisely creating a character as far removed as possible from
the consummate comedy of Mr Curley, whose use of a banana was a
masterclass in hilarity. The
choreographed scene changes work well, and I love the inflatable
Tonioli
on the judging panel.

Post-match
stats – number of prompts – something of a hostage to fortune,
perhaps, as is the cutting criticism of Simon Dupont, reviewer for
another paper, who pens the kind of poisonous piece I shall write
just before I retire ...

It's
not Noises Off, or The Play That Goes Wrong, or even the Farndale
Ladies. But it is a wickedly well observed look behind the amdram
scenes, slickly
directed by Liz Curley, and
a great hit
with the packed house in the Village Hall.

Thursday, November 26, 2015

A
new play by Caryl Churchill. Brief, even for a one-act offering.
Tripartite. First, the “funeral party for a man with an adventurous
past” - drinking champagne in
hospital
is mentioned.

Mourners
stand around awkwardly, wine-glass in hand, making small talk
interspersed with intimations of their own mortality – or pithy
autopsies – and recollections of the departed. Rarely is a sentence
finished, but instead of a naturalistic blending or overlapping, each
speaker seems to apply the brakes – a disconcerting effect.

Then
a masterly monologue by the dead man – a disembodied torso in the
darkness – a confusion of ideas about the [possibly overpopulated]
afterlife: Chiron, Valhalla, Purgatory. A powerful performance from
Patrick Godfrey.

Then
an extended image – Godfrey again, with a patient Hazel Holder –
perhaps of end-of-life futility, or perhaps eternal damnation,
echoing Marlowe's Faustus - “Why this
is hell, nor
am I out of it.”

Too
much of an eternity for some, exiting early through the Lyttleton
doors before the final fade to black.

Dominic
Cooke's uncomplicated direction lets Churchill speak, though
I'm not sure what she's getting at in this black triptych.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Mercury Theatre 2016 Spring/Summer seasonSixty different productions in five months, including of course Made in Colchester, produced on-site. End of the Rainbow, starting its tour at the Mercury in February , stars Lisa Maxwell as Judy Garland , directed by Mercury Theatre Artistic Director Daniel Buckroyd. Then the regional première, with Buckroyd at the helm again, of Bruce Norris’s comedy drama Clybourne Park, a razor-sharp satire lifting the lid on race and real estate in a fictional Chicago neighbourhood.Concluding the Made in Colchester Spring/Summer season, in a very different world, Noël Coward’s classic comedy Private Lives. Daniel Buckroyd, Artistic Director of the Mercury Theatre said:“We’re excited to be producing three acclaimed and very different dramas at the heart of our new season – a ferocious, funny and fascinating look at the last few months of Judy Garland’s turbulent life; a delicious dark comedy about who we’re prepared to have as our neighbours, and a classic comedy of marital manners.”The Mercury's intimate studio space is almost unrecognisable after its re-fit, and there's plenty to look forward to there - including the National Theatre Connections Festival, and Flute Theatre's Hamlet, Who's There - a claustrophobic drama that compresses the traumatic events of the play into a single continuous night.Daniel Buckroyd, Artistic Director of the Mercury Theatre said:“We’re proud to be a host venue for the 21st anniversary season of the National Theatre’s Connections Festival, and to have a full programme of more intimate, adventurous and original work on offer in our newly refurbished Studio Theatre – some of the most exciting new work is now playing and being created here in Colchester.” And of course there are visiting productions to keep us entertained: the Flare Path tour [a WWII drama from the Birdsong stable], a Strictly spin-off with Ian Waite and Natalie Lowe, Simon Callow as Orson Welles, Tasmin Little, Mark Steel, flamenco and Anne Reid.for more information, or to book:www.mercurytheatre.co.uk 01206 573948.

Monday, November 23, 2015

The
title for this concert – and the first words we heard sung – is
from Ursula Vaughan William's Hymn to St Cecilia, set by Herbert
Howells. The hymn seemed ideally suited to the chamber choir, as was
the same composer's Like As The Hart – a beautifully balanced
sound.

November
22 is St Cecilia's Day – we
heard the Britten/Auden
Hymn here a couple of Novembers ago – and also the date of the
first performance of Howells' “Take him, Earth, for cherishing”,
a piece commissioned for the memorial service for John F Kennedy,
assassinated exactly twelve months earlier. A dignified, deeply felt,
expression of grief and loss, confidently tackled by the a cappella
choir, augmented by the organist for the evening, Jonathan Dods, who
gave us an agile Dialogue by Peter Hurford, as well as Howells'
Master Tallis's Testament, a series of variations which grow in
complexity and intensity, brilliantly performed on this modest
instrument.

For
the final work director
Christine Gwynn chose Norman Caplin's Missa Omnium Sanctorum, a mass,
lively and reverential by turns, written for All Saints' Margaret
Street, with plenty of opportunity for solos and duets.

As
ever, Writtle Singers excelled in celebration of the serendipitous
and the lesser known, knowledgeably
introduced and convincingly
performed.

Sunday, November 22, 2015

Second
symphonic Siegfried
Idyll in less than a week. Last Sunday, the BBC Concert Orchestra,
and this Saturday the Essex Symphony under Tom Hammond. Lovely sound
from the strings here – the winds somewhat exposed on the back row,
but all blending to excellent emotional effect in the climactic
moments.

Wagner
wrote his intimate original for his wife's birthday; he was a great
admirer of Beethoven's Seventh Symphony - “[it] carries
us away with bacchanalian power through the roomy space of nature”
he wrote. Performed by the ESO, leader Philippa Barton, with splendid attack and rhythmic
drive. Even the Allegretto second movement – theme from The King's
Speech – was infused with energy, not just a solemn dirge. The
Allegro Con Brio finale, too, sustained its impetus till the last
triumphant bars.

Emma
Hanlan was
the soloist in Nielsen's Flute Concerto.
A suitably spiky, forthright approach from the orchestra, the soloist
audaciously holding her own in free-flowing conversations with
clarinet and other soloists – including trombone and timpani ! Her
approach was teasing and enigmatic, her tone beautifully crafted
throughout the range.

This
was the first concert in the ESO's new season. Coming up later,
Saint-Saens' Organ Symphony in Chelmsford Cathedral, and Mozart's
exquisite Sinfonia Concertante next July.

Friday, November 20, 2015

These
days it's not easy taking real theatre on tour. So hats off to LCT
for going with Godot, on
a pilgrimage from Severn to Solent by way of Kendal and Kilkenny.
Lovely to see this enigmatic classic on the Civic stage, and with a
good audience, too. Can't compare with stand-up or tribute acts, of
course, but even so …

It's
a fine production, with plenty for the expert and for the Beckett
beginner.

Bek
Palmer's set is somewhat perverse, but powerfully so, with the barren
landscape replaced by a hall of tarnished mirrors, tree chandeliers
suspended with their roots in air and driftwood stepping-stones,
representing the road and the isolation of the travellers going
nowhere as they wait for Godot to come.

A
nicely complementary double act from Peter Cadden as the refined Didi
and Richard Heap as the lugubrious ex-poet Gogo. Excellent cross talk
routines, and
a real rapport between these two unlikely friends.

Jonathan
Ashley is the showman Pozzo, and his Lucky is the excellent Michael
Keane, one of the best I've seen – credibly eleven years old, but
achingly world-weary, a melancholy mime; his thinking monoogue
beautifully judged.

The
boy, a mirror image in each act, is Sonja Zobel, skipping across the
stones in a moment of levity before the light dims.

Waiting
for Godot is directed for London Classic Theatre by Michael Cabot.

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

This
was
just one of 320 performances across the UK in this year's Festival.

Four
local schools, each given just 30 minutes to present a Shakespeare
play to a packed audience in a proper theatre.

First
up, Columbus School and College with a colourful take on A Midsummer
Night's Dream. Speech bubbles for
key lines, and loads of music [Wicked
as well as settings of Will's words]
from the live band and vocalists. Infectious enthusiasm from a large
cast, including a scene-stealing Oberon, and a lively Bergamasque to
end.

Great
Waltham Primary School brought us Twelfth Night, with helpful
t-shirts naming the characters and the two excellent narrators,
matching hats for the twins, and some outstanding performances,
including Sir Toby with his braces and his tankard, and an arrogant
little Malvolio in yellow stockings. They ended with an ensemble
version of Feste's song – the clown himself a casualty of the cuts.

Junior
boys from King Edward's gave a compelling, minimalist Julius Caesar,
the text spoken intelligently and with exemplary clarity. An
ever-present chorus reflected the moods of the mob, and there were
some stunning moments of stagecraft – Speak Hands For Me, for
instance, the death of Caesar with the background lounge jazz
suddenly, menacingly loud. The orator Mark Anthony, Brutus and
Cassius all gave impressively assured
performances, and there were many promising contributions amongst the
smaller parts.

Notley
High School and Braintree Sixth Form tackled The Winter's Tale very
successfully, with superb effects from the company – the whispering
and the breaking waves – as well as some very mature central
performances from, amongst many others, Camillo and the King of
Bohemia.

Sunday, November 15, 2015

The
BBC Concert Orchestra packed
the Civic stage
for a tea-time trio of great romantic works.

None
more romantic than Wagner's Siegfried
Idyll, famously written for his wife and performed as a birthday
surprise on the stairs to her bedroom.
A lusher, more robust sound from this much bigger band, with
brilliant woodwind blossoms emerging from the luxuriant foliage of
the strings.

Richard
Strauss's Oboe Concerto is a later work, though it inhabits a similar
romantic landscape. Soloist Gareth Hulse, the BBCCO's principal
oboe, gave an eloquent account of this reflective, autumnal work,
with a lively, nimble Allegro opening, and a mellow tone for the
serene Andante.

Two
great works from the choral repertoire, poles apart in many ways, but
sharing a romantic solo at their heart.

First,
Bernstein's Chichester Psalms. The accompaniment, from the organ of
Michael Frith and the harp of Gwenllian Llyr, was vibrant
and muscular,
and
seemed to inspire the choir to up their game, too, producing a
refreshingly assertive, open sound. Alto soloist Oliver El-Holiby,
singing without a score, gave a wonderful account of the psalm,
powerful but tender, with subtle dynamics, the choir softly shading
in behind.

Oliver
also gave us an aria from Gluck's Orfeo, and Hurford's beautiful
setting of Herrick's Litany.

The
Singers, directed by Christopher Tinker, ended the first half with
early Whitacre: Waternight,
an
uplifting, intricately woven
sequence of dissonances and tone clusters, well sustained by the
choir.

The
final work, Fauré's
movingly simple Requiem, first
given in the Madeleine in Paris with rather larger, and all-male,
forces, was here
underpinned by organ, with the harp for the Sanctus and the choir of
angels. Hosannas,
and Dies Irae, made a particular
impact. Mark
Ellis sang the baritone part from the ranks; the treble for the Pie
Jesu was a confident and pure-toned Elliott Harding-Smith.

Saturday, November 14, 2015

“What
did they do to you?” asks an appalled Mrs Lovett. Benjamin Barker
has returned incognito from Botany Bay, and we share her concern. Les
Cannon's Sweeney stares impassively from craggy, emotionless
features. “His face was pale and his eye was odd ...”

He's
not alone. The chorus stand in weird lighting – belting out the
opening number rigidly looking straight ahead. Only their eyes turn
to Sweeney.

Moments
like these – the Bedlam scene is another – stand out in SODS'
ambitious production of the Sondheim classic, directed by Ian
Gilbert.

It's
a
show
that asks a lot of everyone – soloists, chorus, orchestra, techies.
And audience, still in their seats three hours after that opening
chorale.

The
score is demandingly operatic – it's often done by proper opera
companies, in fact – and SODS' twenty-strong chorus, a few fluffs
apart, does a remarkably professional job. Musical
Direction by Elizabeth Dunlop.

Partners
in crime Todd and Lovett are compellingly
played by Les Cannon and Ashley-Marie Stone. His granite
determination, her slatternly guile make an effective pair. His
powerful Epiphany [chorus boldly
placed to face upstage] is followed by the deliciously tasteless A
Little Priest, both performed with flair and gruesome gusto.

Joining
them in the dangerous streets of Victorian London is a fine company
of singing actors: Scott Roche as the Beadle – superb at the
harmonium – Declan Wright as the fresh-faced matelot, Maddy Lahna
in excellent voice as his Johanna, Paul Alton mortifying the flesh as
the evil Judge and Oliver Mills making a most promising SODS début
as young Tobias – his Not While I'm Around with Lovett very
touchingly put over,
and an athletic turn in the Miracle Elixir sequence.

Occasionally
we might wish for a better range, more sustained tone, but vocal
shortcomings are
usually made up for by the dramatic delivery, and the stunning
staging.

The
lofty set, with its staircases and its upper room, works well. After
the interval, Mrs Lovett's new-found commercial success brings her a
makeover, the signage is changed, and the new barber's chair is
delivered. It looks damned awkward to manipulate, and the stunt
razors don't always do as bloody a job as they might. But there are
plenty of magnificent moments – Barker's wife in flashback, the
Beggar Woman [Laura Mann] recognizing the room and remembering her
baby girl, the pile of corpses, the bodies down the pit.

The
sound design is bright, meaning that almost every word is
audible, though at the expense of some light and shade. The lighting
too, though brilliantly effective, could have been more subtle, with
more gloomy corners to match the mood of the melodrama.

Despite
one or two longueurs, this assured production is a Sweeney Todd to
relish, for Sondheim's haunting score, the tale's black humour, and
the brooding, burning presence of the Demon Barber.

Jeremy
Tustin's lively production does not overplay the social comment card
- “negroes and chubby girls buy hairspray too” just about sums it
up – but makes the most of the all-singing all-dancing numbers like
the iconic You Can't Stop The Beat.

Not
quite colour-blind casting, though we did enjoy
an effervescent Paul French as Seaweed, son of the larger-than-life
Afrotastic Miss Maybelle [Carmel Adekunle, outstanding in her big
numbers].

A
traditional Edna from Samuel Wolstenholme, stepping into Michael
Ball's court shoes as the
plus-size laundress. A memorable turn – his duet with Jack Toland's
Wilbur, which they seem to enjoy as much as we do,
that's to say hugely, is worth the ticket price alone.

Tracy
Turnbull, the “pleasantly plump” teenager who takes on the
prejudices of prime-time station WZZT, is given a wonderfully warm
characterization by Amy Hollingsworth. There's not a weak performer
anywhere on this crowded stage; the company ensemble is excellent, as
are the Dynamites and the male backing group for It Takes Two,
Tracy's duet with the tv heartthrob Link Larkin [Jack Martyn]. The
choreography is inventively nifty – there's even a touch of tap.

“Turn
that racket down, I'm trying to iron in here !” yells Edna from the
side of the stage. Hard not to sympathise, since the
vocalists often fight a losing battle with Bryan Cass's
excellent pit
band. A real shame, since the lyrics carry the message behind the
infectious pastiche of the music.production photographs by Barrie White-Miller

BULLY BOYMade in Colchester at the Mercury Studio, Colchesterfor The Reviews Hub

What is the dramatist to say about war ? From Shakespeare to R C Sherriff, playwrights have tried to convey the reality of combat. In our own lifetime, pieces like Not About Heroes and Our Boys have looked at the psychological aftermath of conflict.Sandi Toksvig's powerful play, first seen in 2011, explores all these areas, while also examining the shifting relationship between two very different soldiers. Both of them have their demons, dark places in their past …All the action is set in the heat and dust of a blind courtyard. James Catterill's substantial set [in the newly re-appointed Mercury Studio] has stones seemingly raining down behind metal grilles, basic benches. And body bags.At first it seems as if this will be a simple investigation. A civilian boy has been killed in the Middle East. The major confronts the private, interrogates him about the incident, and the involvement of his sergeant, and his mates, the self-styled Bully Boys.Eddie is a simple squaddie, joined up at sixteen, still only twenty years old. Oscar is older, a Falklands veteran, now a wheel-chair user. Eddie is casually racist. Stamps out the life of a spider. Oscar is more complex, sensitive and intelligent.But then Eddie saves Oscar's life when their convoy is ambushed, and Eddie's mates are killed. Four “empty boxes” flown home to grieving families.Dan Sherer's production brings out the differences and the common ground in the lives of these two victims of war. Sharing a bench, Oscar reading his book, Eddie playing a handheld computer game. Sharing a Scotch, climbing together to the top of Pendle Hill.We discover a little more about Oscar's background – once desperate to be a dancer, he can no longer dance, nor even hear the music. One of the young boy's mystical appearances sees Oscar pirouetting to Pagliacci. And a little more about the boy from Burnley and the roots of his anger and his guilt.There are some strikingly surreal moments – the relationship itself is improbable, though never feels so. And Toksvig makes sure we have plenty to think about in this 90-minute piece. The Falklands conflict has lost more lives to suicide than to death in combat. The soldiers we send across the world to fight our wars are often remarkably reluctant to fire at the enemy. And those suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder often struggle to find the support they so desperately need. [Eddie seems failed both by the Priory and by ECT ...]The two actors who bring this odd couple to life in this intimate arena are Josh Collins, fresh out of RADA, who captures the latent humour of the lad from Lancashire, as well as his inarticulate frustration. Fiercely defending his mates and the maverick Sgt. Payne, losing his mind - “away with the hills” - as Oscar has lost the use of his legs. Andrew French is the Red Beret Major, a man with secrets of his own, in a beautifully moderated performance. Pouring himself an elegant glass of wine, collapsing into the dust with a howl of frustration. We get to know, and like, them both as their stories unfold and their uneasy relationship grows amid the banter and the questions. The boy, Omar, also of course a victim of the conflict, is shared between Benedict Cable and Austin Humphreys.The solo cello underlines the loneliness; the words conjure graphic pictures: the aftermath of the ambush, the boy running along the roof of the moving train, his world of war forgotten for a fleeting moment.production photograph by Robert Day

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

It's
easy to parody the kind of gloomy Black Country working-class angst
that makes up Lawrence's three plays from a
century ago.

Here,
they are interwoven ingeniously by
Ben Power,
played out in three houses packed in to the Dorfman stage, and
delineated by architect plans. This geometrical design, and the floor
projections, recall other work in this space, also directed by
Marianne Elliott.

The
coal mine is a constant presence, with rumblings and light from
beneath. Women are routinely abused by black-dusted brutes, bread is
burned, crockery broken, pricey
prints consigned to the fire.
The
design [by Bunny Christie] is wonderfully evocative, and there are
countless memorable stage pictures, notably the three wives standing
on the tables of the three houses as the menfolk
march through to the pit.

Superb
acting all round, though the dialect does prove a challenge at times.
Despite the title, this is really about the womenfolk – Lawrence
himself appears in the guise of bookish Ernest [Johnny Gibbon]. The
action is centred around the kitchens and sculleries [with an
effective mix of mime and props as fires are stoked, kettles filled,
pots washed]. Anne-Marie
Duff is Lizzie Holroyd, trapped in a violent marriage to alcoholic
Charlie [Martin Marquez]. Louise Brealy is newly-wed Minnie, Susan
Brown excellent as her meddling matriarch of a mother-in-law.

“It’s
risky work, handlin’ men, my lass. For when a woman builds ’er
life on men, either ’usbands or sons, she builds on summat as
sooner or later brings the ’ouse down crash on ’er head – yi,
she does.”

“I'm angry . . .just angry at the waste of a good man. Look at the work undone . .. think of it! Who is to do it! Oh . . the waste . . . !”

Thus Walter Kent [Hubert Burton], secretary to Henry Trebell, as the curtain falls on Harvey Granville Barker's Waste, famously banned by the Edwardians.Roger Michell's revival at the National is respectful and admirably acted. But the scandal and the political intrigue feel, if not irrelevant, then a little remote, the pre-occupations of another age.Charles Edwards gives a cool, composed Trebell. He is a career politician “in love” with his parliamentary bill, seeking, a little like Wolsey, to use church property for educational ends. Olivia Williams is excellent as Amy O'Connell, with whom he flirts under a massive moon, the only glimpse of the natural world the production affords. Their ill-fated liaison drives the personal and political tragedy. Much of the “action” however, consists of gentlemen talking, notably at the start of Act Two, gathered at a round table, the only relief a kind of musical chairs. Closest to the style Barker would recognise are Michael Elwyn as the pragmatic Prime Minister Horsham and Gerrard McArthur, sporting magnificent spats, as the Catholic grandee Cantilupe. Sylvestra Le Touzel, as Henry's sister Frances, and Lucy Robinson [pictured] as Julia Farrant, give some much needed depth of feeling to the piece.Hildegard Bechtler's sparsely furnished set, off white walls, high gloss flooring and wooden chairs and tables, uses massive screens both horizontal and vertical as scene tabs, making the epic piece as satisfying visually as it is intellectually or emotionally.

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About Me

I first wrote reviews for the Essex Chronicle in the early 70s, part of a team led by "Jon Richards". When he stepped down, I took over the organization of the Arts Pages. In 1988 I was succeeded by Mary Redman, though I continued to contribute reviews until the Chronicle stopped carrying regular coverage of amateur performances. Peter Andrews of the Chelmsford Weekly News kindly allowed me to write for his paper. After he retired, his work was continued by Jim Hutchon, who recruited me again to share the load. After Jim died, I continued to provide professional reviews of arts events in and around Chelmsford and Brentwood, until I finally hung up my pen and my word processor in December 2017.
Apart from the newspaper - now The Chelmsford Times - my views have appeared on The Reviews Hub, Remote Goat and Sardines. And of course, all of them were shared on this blog.